Virgilia; or, Out of the Lion's Mouth Part 3

III.

THE HYMN OF THE WATER-CARRIER.

As the lawyer and his children reclined at the triclinium in the cool arcade opening on the garden, Martius narrated to Virgilia his conversation with Hermione that morning in his father's office.

It was the custom, in the summer months, for the family to take their meals out of doors, in the shadowed corridor, where there was almost always a pleasant breeze, even when the sun scorched the bricks and square stones of the street in front of their house. Occasionally, a man would pa.s.s through the streets, carrying a sheepskin filled with water. He sang a strange, low song as he sprinkled the red bricks from which a thick steam arose at once, so scorching hot were they.

He was singing now; the weird melody penetrated even to the corridor.

"What a strange song!" said Aurelius Luca.n.u.s, cutting a piece of tender chicken, roasted on a spit before an open fire in the kitchen so tiny that there was scarcely room for the cook and his attendants to move about. Yet here, they prepared the elaborate dinners, served with the utmost nicety, in which Romans delighted. "It is different from anything I ever heard."

Two men were carrying around the table huge platters of food. One was Alyrus, the Moor, who was not only a porter, but a general factotum.

His duties were many and various, from sweeping the floors and keeping their highly-colored mosaics clear and s.h.i.+ning, to accompanying his master to business, as he had done this morning, and a.s.sisting the man who served at table. He was sent, also, with Virgilia when she went to pay a visit to some of her friends, or when, in former times, she went to see one of the Vestal Virgins, and wors.h.i.+pped at the shrine. There had been some talk of her taking the vows of the Vestals, who held a very high position in Rome, but both her father and mother felt that, as an only daughter, she could not be spared from home, Marcella, one of her companions, had always entered as a novice. In all her seventeen years of life, Virgilia had never been alone outside of her father's house. It was not the custom for young girls to go upon the streets unaccompanied. Even when she paid a visit, Alyrus or one of the other slaves was waiting in the ante-chamber, to obey her lightest call.

The other slave, who followed Alyrus with a gla.s.s carafe of iced water, was named Alexis. He was a Greek, from near Ephesus, seized as prisoner by one of the victorious generals, sold to Aurelius as Alyrus and Sahira had been. He was unusually handsome, very tall, with broad, well-formed shoulders and a face and head like one of the ancient pagan G.o.ds, whose statues have come down to us from the chisel of Phidias, the Greek sculptor. His skin was fair and his hair yellow as gold. Between him and the dark Moor who walked near him, there was the difference between light and darkness. It was not a difference in physical beauty, altogether, although Alyrus bore not only the disfiguring scar on his face, but smallpox scars, he was not altogether unpleasing in appearance. The difference lay chiefly in the expression of eyes and mouth. Alyrus was satirical, sneering, critical; Alexis was gentle, yet commanding; benign, yet firm.

Both slaves became alert, as the Master had been, listening to the song of the water-carrier, now becoming less and less distinct.

Alexis's eyes shown, but Alyrus cast a malignant glance at Martius, whose face was flushed.

"What a strange song!" repeated the lawyer. "It seems to be religious in its type, yet I never heard it at our functions or in the temples.

Who was that man, Alyrus? Thou, who sittest ever at the doorway and hast an insatiable curiosity about our neighbors, wilt surely know."

Alyrus frowned at the implied reproof which was, after all, for the Moor kept closely to himself, except when information could serve some end.

"It is Lucius, the water-carrier," he said, as shortly as he dared speak to his master. "It is a Christian song that he is singing."

"Ah!"

Aurelius selected a large, rosy peach, covered with burnished down and deliciously cold, from the dish presented to him by Alexis. The figs, grapes and peaches were laid in snow and cracked ice, brought from distant lands and preserved in this tropical clime by some process known to the Romans. If Aurelius Luca.n.u.s had not been one of the most prominent advocates in the city, receiving a large pension from the Emperor himself, he could not have afforded these luxuries.

There was a scowl on his forehead as he pared the peach daintily with a sharp silver knife. These Christians were beginning to make him nervous.

There was the Lady Octavia, for instance, who must needs be so foolish as to release all her slaves just because of a silly fancy that Christians should not possess human beings as property. She would lose half her income by this freak, and a good share of her princ.i.p.al invested in these slaves. What would Aureus Cantus have said to such a wild thing as this? He should have tied up his affairs in a way which would have prevented the widow from having the rights to do it. She was now in for trouble and he did not know how to get her out of it.

His own reputation would suffer if he lost her case.

And then, he had to deal with Martius and Virgilia. That was even more difficult, for he loved them both very dearly, and hated to be severe with them. The illness of Claudia could be traced to the same cause, the singular fanaticism of the members of this new sect.

"The Lady Octavia has invited us to come to enjoy the festivities of the grape-gathering," Martius was saying.

"It was very good of her and we shall have a splendid time. Everything at the villa is so beautiful. I wish that father would buy a home out on the Campagna. But he says that he cannot afford to keep up two establishments and he must remain in Rome on account of the Emperor and the Law Courts."

"Father says, though, that when the Emperor goes to his villa at Antium, we shall all go, too. The Emperor wants father near at hand.

Thou knowest that his magnificent villa is finished now. The house is enormous, and there is room for us and many others."

"Hast thou seen Octavia's place?"

"Very often. During thy absence, I have been carried frequently out of the gates and along the Ostian Way. Mother never wished to go. She dislikes the Lady Octavia. Alyrus, and sometimes Alexis, was with me."

The lawyer had now left the table, retiring to his wife's room.

Martius cast a cautious look around and, seeing no one, said, under his breath: "I do not wonder that mother does not desire to go there.

Thou knowest, that they, too, are of the faith? Today, Hermione told me: 'I too, am a little Fish.'"

A smile lit up Virgilia's sweet face.

"Who should know it better than I? For from Hermione I have heard much of Christ. With her, I went to the meetings of the Christians, of our brothers and sisters, and heard the Truth."

"What will be the outcome of it all, Virgilia?" Martius spoke earnestly in her ear. "When mother is well, what will happen? Thou dost remember what she said, that we must both leave this roof? I try to forget those cruel words, I try to believe that I shall stay here, to work in my father's office, to take up his profession, to be in that dearest place of all--home. It is hard to be exiled, Virgilia, hard never to see Rome again, Rome, the centre of the world. But if it should be hard for me, what will it be for thee, so tenderly matured, so lovingly cared for? It cannot be possible that Claudia will thrust thee, her own daughter, forth from her door, simply because thou hast become a follower of Christus. No. It is only a bad dream."

That Martius was deeply in earnest could be seen from his clenched hands, where the nails sank into the flesh, from the pallor of his cheeks and the sorrow in his eyes.

"Neither can I believe it. Martius, by nature, mother is not cruel. It is only our religion that she hates, not us. But when the moment comes that she asks me to give up Christ, I will face hunger and privation, even death, itself, for His sweet sake."

The light of that exaltation which filled the martyrs of ancient days with strength to face a shameful and awful death was on Virgilia's face, it was the look of a saint.

Martius was thrilled by her enthusiasm.

"And I, too, dear sister, will never deny my Saviour. We will go forth together, if need be. Let us hope for better things, however. G.o.d can do all things.

"Amen," responded Virgilia. "But, Martius, things cannot continue as they are now. Each morning, to please my mother, I weave the garlands for the statues of the G.o.ds, I offer sweet oils and spices and libations at the altar. I could not do otherwise while she was so ill.

Now, she is getting better. Tomorrow, or the next day, I must refuse to do this. What will happen then?"

They had left the triclinium, and were walking slowly in the garden.

So tall was she that Virgilia's head was almost on a level with that of her stalwart brother. Alyrus and Alexis had cleared the table, watching with keen gaze the young people walking in the Pergola, beneath the heavy grape vine, whose leaves, pierced by the sun, cast queer shadows over Virgilia's white draperies and on her abundant hair, which threw back glints of copper tints to mock the s.h.i.+fting lights. Alyrus watched them because he hated them and longed for the moment when he could wreak his revenge. Alexis looked at them in love, for he, too, was a Christian, and the reason for the scene which Claudia had made in the garden on the day when Martius returned from exile, was well known to all the servants. In the dark corners of their miserable quarters, they discussed the situation, wondering what would happen. In these early days of Christianity, men and women often worked side by side, never daring to make known that they were Christians, for fear that the other might prove traitor. In this household of Aurelius Luca.n.u.s and Claudia, there were three slaves who were Christians, and one was Alexis, the Greek, but the others were unaware of it. He waited now in silence, hoping to be able to help the young son and daughter of his master. He, too, saw the shadow of suspicion creeping nearer, growing larger. Some day the Christians of Rome would be enveloped in the darkness and then would come death, as it had come in other times to other martyrs of the Cross.

Martius had only time to seize his sister's had and press it warmly, when his father's voice was heard behind them.

"Virgilia, thy mother needs thee. Go to her. She seems to be very weak. Do nothing to agitate or excite her. Sacrifice thine own wishes to hers."

He was gone, and the girl looked in bewilderment at Martius.

"Dost think that he heard what I said?" She whispered.

Martius shrugged his shoulders.

"I know not. But he is right, Virgilia. Thou must wait. For a time, we must wors.h.i.+p in secret. Some day, all will be open to the light and we must suffer what comes. Christ will help us."

"Yes, Christ will give us strength."

All that afternoon, Virgilia sat patiently by her mother's couch. The change in the proud woman during these weeks of illness was only too apparent. It seemed as if the ardor of her hatred had burned out her strength. Her lovely eyes were l.u.s.treless. The neck on which Sahira had hung a splendid cord of sapphires from Persia, linked together with milky pearls from India, was thin and haggard. Her skin, fair and beautiful on that day when she sat so proudly by her husband and daughter in the Circus, watching the gladiatorial contest, was yellow and drawn. The jewels were a mockery in the shadow of threatened death.

It was nearing sundown when Virgilia, very tired from the hours pa.s.sed in gently soothing her mother's querulous complaints, giving her cooling drinks and telling her old Grecian legends to amuse her, entered her own little cubicleum, her sleeping-chamber.

In Roman houses, the sleeping quarters were the smallest, the worst ventilated of all. It is a superst.i.tion, come down to modern times, that night air is injurious. Many ancient Roman dwellings show that rooms used for sleeping sometimes had no windows at all, the sole means of ventilation being provided by the doorway, which was curtained, opening into a larger room, or by a small trap door in the ceiling.

The furniture in Virgilia's room was very simple. The bed was a couch, covered with white, with head and foot-board of ebony, curved in form and inlaid with quaint flower designs in mother-of-pearl. There was one chair, with slender arms, also in ebony and mother-of-pearl, and a stand, with ewer and basin of beaten bra.s.s. The floor was laid in red brick, and on it, at the bedside, lay a tiger-skin, brought from the East. Its tawny tints, varied by bright yellow, were the only colors in the room.

Virgilia was fond of fresh air. She pushed up the trap door in the roof, reaching it easily, as the ceiling was so low, and let in a flood of glorious evening light. Through the aperture she could see a patch of brilliant blue sky. The swallows, dipping and circling, were swirling about in the heavens, black specks against the golden light of the departing sun.